


Acies

by Antarese



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-07-11 11:17:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19927210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Antarese/pseuds/Antarese
Summary: Draco's narrative throughout the years, about how small things diminish, and grow important again.





	Acies

**Author's Note:**

> *A re-post of a previous work, though rewritten with minor changes.*

Growing up, Draco Malfoy's favorite color was green.

Not dim, nor dingy, but a lush, leafy green.

Maybe this preference came from the comforting memories the color gave. The young boy would often lay in his beloved hideout, lounging beneath the hibernating hydrangeas in a cove of the Manor gardens. He'd rest, flipping lazily through _Recognizing Potion Ingredients_ or _Understanding Charms_ while absentmindedly twiddling a piece of broken grass between his fingers.

Likely it was Christmas. The holiday being the one time of year his family seemingly had no worries. Father was dragged away from the ministry, standing tall at Mother's side as they watched young Draco open presents. The sitting room decorated with not one, but three rich green Christmas trees, dusted with faux snow. Each bobbled with ornaments of gold and silver, and a pile of green-wrapped parcels underneath.

Or perhaps it was the banner that hung in his father's study, with Slytherin colors and a sly looking serpent. His father would tell him stories of his Hogwarts year, and how proud he would be if, no, when, Draco was sorted into the house himself.

Then Draco finally sat watching the hills of Scotland roll past, transforming into steep mountains above the train. Homesickness danced with anticipation inside his chest as they neared closer to the school that he'd grow up in. He missed the Manor gardens, then.

Given orders from Father, Draco later found himself facing a boy of his age with a scar on his forehead. Only ever doing what he was taught, Draco was confused, and dare say, hurt, to have his outstretched hand rejected by the boy. Searching his face for reason, Draco subconsciously noted just how green the boy's eyes were.

As the years passed, wounding and painful interactions with the green-eyed boy continued, and Draco's love for the color slowly depleted.

When Draco was seventeen, he became familiar with feelings of despair, and wretched numbness. The stale air of his bedroom no longer bothered him, nor did the sight of the dead gardens outside his window. The color red was inked hateful in his mind; splattering the walls of his childhood home; the shade of the Dark Lord's narrow eyes; the curse that licked his ankles in the Room of Requirement. The house colors of the boy who he thought he hated- the boy who saved his life.

A year later, after the dark events in the previous months, Draco now sits secluded on the hard bench of the Slytherin table. It's an uncomfortable feeling he's experiencing, to be back in the place he's grown in, as though nothing had changed. Candles dance in the reflection of his morning tea. His chin rests in his palm as exhaustion teases his eyelids heavy.

Though his house mates remained loyal, the stares from other classes would never not make him feel isolated. The poorly whispered comments would never not be so loud. Apathy from teachers and paid mentors would never not dull his dignity. And the nightmares, filled with cackles of dark wizards, the smell of discarded bodies, and the presence of a death-dealing snake would never not keep him awake at night.

The morning announcements from the headmistress come and go in the back of his mind. His peers stand slowly, filling the hall with the sound of silverware hitting plates and benches being pushed out. Retaining his composure, Draco stands, leaving his half-eaten breakfast and now empty mug. His heart is full of feelings, his mind full of undecipherable thoughts.

The crowd to leave the hall moves slowly. The floor becomes his main view point. His left hand grips his satchel close.

His right hand gets brushed against: warm fingers over cold.

No longer used to the feeling of someone else's skin, Draco flinches, looking over at the disturbance.

Black robes, lined with red, rest over drooped shoulders. Paired with an awkward stance, round glasses, and a mess of hair, Draco's heart dips in his chest.

It's him. Harry Potter.

Who mutters an apology, as well as a small, "Hello."

The crowd dissipates around them, leaving both frozen in the large doorway. Harry stands there, shuffling from right foot to left, and extends his hand.

It's reality shifting, the small gesture, and Draco suddenly feels his blood pumping through his veins.

He's thrown back to his first year, before the bullying, before the fights, before the war. He's reminded it's all in the past now, important, unrelenting, but in the past. He's reminded it's possible to move on, change.

Harry holding out his hand has made Draco feel warmer than he has in a while, and he cant help but want to chase that distant feeling of hope. He gathers his strength and reaches to meet Harry, and it's hesitant at first, but their hands tightly grip one another.

Draco can feel Harry's aura then, his magic, welcoming and electrifying. It wakes Draco up more than his tea, and his eyes shoot to meet Harry's, wondering if he's felt it too.

The thought dies in his mind. Because in that moment, when their gaze locks, Draco is reminded of life. And things as small as a favorite color happen to be important again. In that moment, unbeknownst to Draco, his favorite color is not lush, nor leafy, but Potter's eyes, green.

Draco clears his throat, still holding Potter's hand, and speaks. "Hello."

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!  
> If you enjoyed, please leave your feedback in a comment. They mean very much to us writers. ♡ :)


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